


Temporal Reiteration

by mango_boba



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Blood, Death, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Squip, Time Loop, may or may not affect certain characters, no srsly they're incredibly minor bc they're teachers, potential angst later on, repeated deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mango_boba/pseuds/mango_boba
Summary: (summary will be WIP for now)Set a year or so after events from the musical. Inspired from the time loop + death concept in Happy Death Day.--Jeremy is caught in a time loop in which the day restarts whenever he dies.





	1. 7:35 AM, Monday morning

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious disclaimers that I do not own Be More Chill nor Happy Death Day. Only thing I own is me writing the story  
> the first chapter mentions some stuff from my previous bmc crackfic (Michael Heere), but you don’t need to read it to understand what’s happening.
> 
> this has been lingering in my folder for quite a while so i decided i might as well post it here; let me know if it seems.. interesting?? at all?? bc i've been kinda wanting to continue this once i'm done with school.. it's like 1AM on a Monday so i'm pretty tired rn oof

It was about 7:35 AM when Jeremy Heere woke up on his bed on a regular Monday morning.

Given, the dazed teen wouldn’t have bothered to get up at all if it weren’t for his phone alarm ringing constantly under the pillow, instead wanting to grab the device and throw it to the nearest wall in hopes of sleeping for a little longer. That is, until he realized it was a Monday: a school day where classes usually start 8 AM sharp. And even though he could just, _run_ to school, he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of looking disheveled, sweaty, and out-of-breath feeling gross. No need to be reminded of how awfully out-of-shape he is.

By the time he came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, going to be late if he didn’t get his ass in gear for school very soon, it took a frantic Jeremy a span of 10 minutes to get ready, head out of the house, and barely catch the bus (and his breath; it’s a wonder how he was able to pass PE just above a C-) that was about to leave--albeit not without almost running into several walls in the house and tripping over invisible rocks that were seemingly on the ground beforehand.

By this point, the poor boy was tired out from physical exhaustion (thank god he chose not to run to school). So when Jeremy hastily took the first vacant seat he saw from the corner of his eye without ever so glancing at his seat partner, what was supposed to be only quiet gasps for air turned into a voice-cracking shriek when the mysterious partner whispered a bit too closely in his ear, “Your fly is down.”

The majority of those in the bus turned to look at him, causing the male with curly locks of brown hair to look down, embarrassed. He made sure to put his backpack in front of him to avoid making his fly area look too obvious. Once he was sure that people continued to chatter or go on their phones, Jeremy quickly put the zipper up before turning to glare at the one responsible.

“Dude, you scared the hell out of me! Not cool.” Jeremy whispered angrily, not sure whether to be angry at the other or at himself more. This earned an eyebrow raise from the other teen, who stopped sipping his slushie.

“In my defense, I wasn’t even that loud when I told you that,” Michael replied matter-of-factly, though immediately broke into a grin not long after. Jeremy simply rolled his eyes, though also caved in for a small smile. It was hard to be angry at him for too long. “Were you busy trying to finish off or what?”

“Eeugh. Stop.”

“Am I right?”

“No! I woke up late. I was trying to get ready in like, 10 minutes before I missed the last bus. I guess I was so busy trying to not run into walls or tripping over literally nothing that I ended up forgetting to… you know,” He replied sheepishly, making a loose shrug gesture with his right hand. Awkward.. But it was better than trying to do an imitation of jacking off with people around him, in a school bus, in _public_. “And? Why are you taking the bus today? You usually drive to school.”

“I could’ve. But would you believe me if I said I didn’t only so I can, well, surprise you?” said Michael, whose eyes were awfully reminiscent of a puppy’s. Letting out a tired yawn, Jeremy wondered if the male had been taking lessons from his own dog.

“Considering what just happened minutes earlier? Sure.”

“You’re no fun. Seriously though, I couldn’t use the car ‘cause the tires were all busted. ALL of them.” Michael explains, face contorted by an expression of dismay. “I leave my car outside for around 14 hours, and I get cut-up tires. When I checked them, it looked like they were all done with a sharp knife or something. There were scratch marks all over them.” The bespectacled teen imitated the appearance of the tire scars on the behind of the bus seat that was in front of him, making various large ‘X’ shapes.

Jeremy furrowed his eyebrows, looking equally upset. “What? What an asshole, whoever it was.”

“And it doesn’t even end there,” Michael says, looking more pissed this time, “When I tried to start the car--I didn’t notice the tires until after I attempted to do this, order is weird sue me--it wouldn’t start. Only made these clicking noises in the engine, and turned out I had a dying battery too. So this morning was pretty much shit for me.”

“.. Dang. Sorry to hear that. You don’t think, uh, someone’s after you, right?” he asks hesitantly, trying not to let the worry show in his tone or face to no avail. Noticing this, Michael calms down and gives a small smile.

“Nah. Apparently most of my neighbors’ car tires been slashed too, so I guess we a serial tire slasher in the neighborhood now. They’ll be brought to justice eventually--besides, my moms bought me a slushie right before I left, so this morning hasn’t been a total disaster.”

“Yet.”

“Don’t jinx it.” Seeing the concern hasn’t exactly disappeared from Jeremy’s expression, Michael opted for Plan B: teasing his Player 2. “Awww, could it be that you’re worried for me? Your favo~WITE pewson?” Michael cooed cutely, cheek nuzzling against the other’s own for the full embarrassing effect.

“Jesus christ..” the flustered teen muttered, unsure of whether to laugh at the other’s usual dumb antics or to critically avoid any nearby stares that were probably boring holes through his soul right about now.

“OWO”

And that settled it for Jeremy’s other, unnamed option: pretending he didn’t know this absolute stranger whom he has never met before in his entire life.

“UWU”

“I don’t know you anymore.”

“Says you, full offense.” Michael quickly pointed out, before slipping on his headphones as if he was listening to his music. The other didn’t fall for it.

“What.” Jeremy was well-aware that Michael could still hear him, judging by the way his eyes looked awfully mischievous. The latter took a brief moment to look at Jeremy dead in the eye, sipped his slushie drink once, and answered,

“You furry.” The bus came to a final stop across from the school’s main entrance, saving Michael with just a bare inch of his life from a possible tickle torture as revenge. Michael made a run for it, laughing. Jeremy groaned.

“Says the one with a bear on the back of his hoodie!”

* * *

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t have one, Jerebear.”

“Says you, Mike Wazowski.”

“Mike Wazow--Oh, you’re so _in for it_.” Michael proceeded to glare at Jeremy, just moments away from engaging in tickling the hell out of the other until-

“WOAH WATCH IT!” There was a shriek followed by a gasp as Rich narrowly avoided crashing into them. The shorter teen simply exhaled a sigh of relief and grinned at them, holding onto his school project that was still intact. They were not as happy though, as one of them stared hard between the offending short male and the spilled slushie contents on the floor while the other simply looked on in disbelief.

“Uh dude? Careful much? You made me spill like a quarter of my slushie! This is already the worst day ever, I knew it,” Michael whined, mourning at the small loss that was spilled on the hallway floor. “Nice job jinxing it.”

“Technically that was Rich’s fault.” Jeremy protested, pointing at Rich. At being mentioned,  Rich stopped re-adjusting his project to puff his chest out with pride.

“Yeah I know, I’m amazing.”

“Not what I said.” Jeremy corrected.

“Uh-huh. Anyways, sorry ‘bout that; wanted to drop this bad boy to class before class starts. How’s it look though?” Rich rolled his shoulders to gesture towards his project, a miniature model of a volcano. There are stationary figures of people all over the land and even some inside the volcano. And one Abraham Lincoln figure standing on top of the volcano.

“Seems pretty soli-Why is Abraham Lincoln T-posing on the top?”

“He’s liberating the volcano.”

Jeremy wasn’t convinced. “And the people inside the volcano?”

“He’s liberating their sacrificed souls..?”

“Rich, this was supposed to be for science class not history.”

“What’s wrong with being creative?!” He cried, suddenly defensive over his Abraham Lincoln T-posing on the volcano he made out of paper mache. And possibly reinforced with some playdough. “I had to stay up the whole night just to get the paper mache right, mind you.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to speak up. “Shit, Jeremy, he’s right. Look at the shape and form of that sick-ass volcano.”

“Are you still high?”

“ANYWAYS,” Rich cuts in, “Gonna drop this off since I don’t wanna carry this shit all day, so smell ya guys later. Bell’s gonna go off soon.” He remarks before heading off to the other direction hurriedly.

“To answer your burning question, no. What do you mean, ‘still’ anyway?” Michael inquired, looking confused. “You passed out RIGHT when I quoted a Dumbledore quote while we were working on the powerpoint.”

“Oh.” Holy crap. Did he actually dream all that, with the mayonnaise and Michael Stevens appearing at their wedding? Oh, _god_.

“Never mind. Wait, didn’t he say the bell’s gonna ring soon? What time is it?!”

**_DING_ **

**_DONG_ **

“Fuck. RUN.” And with that, the two of them ran like hell to their respective classes for the day.

* * *

“Dude, we totally aced it. I’m like 80% sure.”

“That doesn’t sound very sure. Where’s the other 20%?”

“For if we did bomb it because you wouldn’t let me do my Michael Stevens impression.” The curly-haired teen felt his face heat up at the remark.

“That’ll just look bad on me!”

“No trust. You sure you’ll be okay without me? Since I gotta leave for that doctor’s appointment right about now.”

“Dude. I’m 18; PRETTY sure I can handle it.” Michael shook his head but didn’t protest further.

“Right.. Anyways, text me when you’re home. See ya.” Jeremy watched the other run across the hallway, giving a small wave. Something about watching his best friend grinning as he ran off made his heart throb. Wanting to avoid being caught possibly skipping, he immediately turned a full 180 to head back to class, holding onto the bathroom pass firmly.

* * *

Despite being left alone (sorta? There was always the others too) in the middle of class, time seemed surprisingly fast today. Not long after, school had already ended--but after being persuaded by Christine, he and several other people decided to stay for rehearsals for the upcoming school play until it was late evening.

Seeing as how there were no buses running at the time, Jeremy decided to screw it and walk the way instead. His dad was probably still at the office anyway, considering the workload that’s been holding him up late at night nowadays.

 _Crunch, crunch, crunch._ The crunching of new, fresh grass underneath his shoes were heard as he walked back home. Almost relaxing, if he wasn’t so nervous right now (though it was calming him a little bit). Considering the time and the rain that started to pour not long after, perhaps walking back home all alone wasn't the best idea. Maybe he should’ve waited and asked Christine or even his dad. Wait, no, maybe not since after they broke up it’d be awkward to just walk right up to her and ask to get a ride, and his dad complained about his busy work-

No, it’s too late to regret it now. Besides, it should only take what? Less than 20 minutes? It’ll be fine. All he needs to worry about now is that he’ll have to shower once he comes home.

“It’ll be fine,” Jeremy muttered, walking at a steady pace as he hit the pavement this time. Trying to keep his mind off of things, the cardigan-donning male took notice of random things: the rustling of trees, the sound of an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, the sound of rain pouring down the dark alleys (and his flattened hair and now-uncomfortably wet clothes and backpack), and the couple street lamps that needed to have their flickering lights fixed.

This isn’t helping.

_Sssssshhk_

What the f-

Turning his head around quickly, Jeremy could hear his heartbeat quicken its pace to the point where he can hear it pumping in his ears. But when he turned, there was no one there, only the empty alleys and rain puddles. Maybe it was just the rain? But it sounded a bit different from the pitter-pattering of rain... Like his heartbeat, he quickens his own walking pace to that of jogging. No good, his nerves are starting to get to him

_Clink-clink-clink_

He hears the small, familiar clinking of the keychains attached to his backpack, which soothes his nerves a little bit. They reminded him of when he and Michael would trade keychains that they bought from various conventions. Calm down, calm down, _calm the FUCK down_.

Jeremy brought his phone out (don’t worry, it’s practically waterproof!... as long as he tries to prevent any water from going inside, but that’s where his arm blocking skills and hunched posture comes in) from his jean pocket. He needed something, anything, to distract him; going past the lock screen, he decided to aimlessly scroll about on the dimly-lit menu screen.

_Pitter patter_

_Pitter patter_

_Tp tp tp Pitter patter Tp tp tp tp_

_Pitter patter tp tp tp tp tp_

_Tp tp tp tp.._

But then he feels his heartbeat quicken again, and feels his anxiety soar through the roof. What is that sound accompanying that of rain pouring down? He walks more briskly again.

_Tp tp tp tp tp tp tp tp_

The sounds get louder and faster too, as if matching his pace. Although he doesn’t want to, he slows his pace slightly.

_Tp tp_

_tp tp…_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s another pair of footsteps besides his own. It’s too heavy to be some stupid cat or raccoon, but too deliberate and almost rhythmic to be some random stranger trying to pass through. It’s as if they’re trying to match with Jeremy’s, but the lingering firmness of their steps makes it apparent that they’re a little behind on purpose

**Someone is following him.**

What the hell what is he supposed to do here? Why are they following him? Why? He mentally screams, panicked as he continues to make haste again. He heard whoeverthehellitis pick up the pace as well. Okay, probably a bad move.

_**RING RING RING** _

The soaked teen jolts as he fumbled with his smartphone to avoid dropping it into the storm drain that was right below his feet. Quickly and without stopping, he answers it. “F--Hello??”

 _“Jeremy?”_ A familiar voice spoke from the other side of the call. _“This is Dad speaking!”_

“Oh, uh, hey Dad-” If he wasn’t so panicked about the idea of someone possibly stabbing him on the back right now, he would’ve probably bothered to cringe at his dad’s mannerisms at the moment. Despite this, however, Jeremy found himself empowered by his father’s voice and took the opportunity to look behind him. Nothing. He exhaled a sigh of relief, but uneasiness continued to linger in his mind. “W..What’s up?”

 _“Eh, just getting some work done; you know how it is. Your old man’s been very busy lately._ _But that’s not the main reason why I called, son. Have you seen the time? Now, I understand that you’re a half-fledged adult but you should at least tell me if you’re going to come home late today. When are you coming home?”_

Where the hell are they? Was it just his imagination..? “Y-Yeah. Sorry dad. I’ll give you the heads up next time. I-”

The teen wasn’t able to finish his sentence once he heard the sudden _whoosh_ of cutting air behind him before turning around hastily, quickly followed by what felt like an intense, HARD blow on his gut. Dropping his smartphone in shock, the device making a clattering noise as it fell not too far from the ground,

_“Hello?”_

And not long after it fell, he fell too, unable to take a moment of breath nor move,

 _“Jeremy? Are you there?”_ The mentioned male distantly heard the shuffling of movement before catching a glimpse of a hooded figure wielding a knife: a really, really bloody knife that was practically coated in red. It was only until Jeremy saw the blood-coated blade did he realize there was an intense throbbing pain that seemed to spread from the very same area where he was _stabbed_ . Even his shirt was dyed a _bright red_ as his trembling hand weakly clutched the stained fabric. He panicked, letting out a choked scream as formed tears pricked his eyes from the unbearable pain radiating from his stomach. The thumping in his ears felt louder, and his body temperature was getting colder as the pool of blood started to get bigger under him

_Oh shit what the fuck it really FUCKING hurts there’s so much blood holy FUCK_

The hooded, unknown perpetrator wasted no time in kicking away the smartphone as they approached closer to their bleeding victim, raising the knife once more in front of Jeremy whose blue eyes widened and watched helplessly in horror as it plunged swiftly down to his forehead

* * *

And then Jeremy Heere woke up with a _killer_ headache in a moment of horror, slight relief, then an overwhelming sense of confusion as he read the time 7:35 AM on a typical Monday morning.


	2. Headaches, MD

Let me just take a moment to say that the onomatopoeia-esque writing in the story here and there is part of my experimental writing; if it seems overly disruptive to the story, feel free to let me know.

This story is also  **not** beta-read, so some mistakes might be found. Workskin is also used in this chapter, so I'm not sure how well reading in mobile would work in the format. Alternatively, you can also hide the workskin (the button that says "Hide Creator's Style") and it should still be okay.

* * *

_Throb Throb_

Why does his head hurt so _much?_  Jeremy wondered as his head continued to throb painfully (no, not THAT kind of head). Aside from that, however, something else occupied and intensified his buzzing headache: confusion. What had happened right before he woke up? He was walking back home, while it was raining, and then…

… Then, something. It started to be unclear, but he knew it had to do with the blood rushing to his head that worsened his headache. Specifically, right around—

A forefinger rose to prod at the center of his forehead, feeling firm bone under his imperfect, blemished layer of skin. For a short moment, it appeared to be fine until an acute pain abruptly shot from the area where he poked it.

“OW! Okay, yeah, definitely sharp as a knife,” he muttered, refraining from touching the same spot again as he inspected himself in a mirror. Wait, a knife?

He cringed at the vivid, traumatizing scene of a knife stabbing through his head. Given how the thought did not easily fade away and instead lingered like a haunting memory, the teen reached the conclusion that the scene was also something that occurred in the dream, perhaps more of something that happened RIGHT before he woke up. Shaking away the headache-inducing image (and not-so-great physical appearance, but that was the usual), the teen seemed relatively fine. Especially for someone who had gotten ready within 5 minutes this time. 

Somewhere downstairs, he heard the shuffling of papers, the floor creaking as the familiar smell of burnt toast wafted up to the second floor (specifically, up to the bathroom). Dad. _“Jeremy! You’re going to be late for school!”_  

“I’ll be out soon! Just, just give me a moment...”

* * *

 

 

 

 

**not heere**

are you on the bus right now?

**mellon**

yeah

**mellon**

wait r u in a seat already?

**mellon**

i don't see u anywhere

**not heere**

uhh no i'm waiting for it. just a guess

**mellon**

bruh i didnt even get to

**mellon**

surprise u on the bus

**mellon**

what r u a pdyshic

**not heere**

pdyshic

**mellon**

stfu

‘ _So he IS on the bus._ ’ Jeremy mused, absentmindedly staring at his phone screen until he heard the tires of the bus squealing to signal its stop. _‘How did I even know that?’_

Looking up to see the doors propped open before him, Jeremy tucked away his phone inside his pocket and entered the bus, his eyes scanning for Michael. Once his gaze met with Michael’s own, the headphones-wearing male gave a wave to which Jeremy returned before going over to his row. By the time he reached it, Michael had stopped fervently patting down the vacant seat beside him, like an overbearing mother frantically telling their child to sit and stay still before they got lost again. Jeremy rolled his eyes but said nothing as he sat down. As he did so, the two of them were quiet in contrast to other peers chattering and mainstream pop music playing around them.

.. For about 3 seconds, until the bespectacled male leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “Your fly is down.” 

A strange sense of déjà vu hits him. “No it’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, Micah, I’m pretty sure I KNOW it’s not.” Michael proceeded to scoff at his assertion.

“Then why don’t you look down and see how WRONG you are, Jere? Don’t blame me if girls end up laughing and whispering around you once they get a peek of those blue dolphin bo-” 

 Jeremy hastily covered Michael’s mouth with his hand to shut him up, before looking down. It was zipped up. He turned to look at Michael to tell him off. “It’s no-”

His right cheek was greeted by the chilling touch of Michael’s slushie that was freezing COLD to the point where he’s _not at all having a good time right now._

There was a sharp intake of breath from the teen, who then decided to be the better man and shift away from the flavored ice beverage rather than to curse him out and possibly yeet his beloved drink out the goddamn bus window (that was conveniently right by Michael’s side) with the finale consisting of him screaming until he somehow exploded into freaking oblivion.

And no, he’s not really feeling okay; pondering about it now, he chalked it off to two key things: 1. His stupid dream that didn’t really feel like a dream that he somewhat remembers. Not really. 2. It’s a Monday morning.

“Whoa, okay. Jeremy? Earth, US, New Jersey school bus to Jeremy? Thought I could’ve COOLED you off there, but you look more like shit,” came Michael’s remark that was meant to come off as his concerning (probably). He proceeded to remove his white headphones from his years, resting on his red hood that laid comfortably on his shoulders. “What’s up?”

Jesus. “Was it that obvious?” Michael visibly frowned at the question but gave a single, slow nod as he sipped on his ICEE.

“Well to start, if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thrown your wild cherry slushie out the window.” 

“ICEE.” Jeremy wasn’t really surprised that he just pulled a slushie joke on him of all times. He simpered at the joke anyways.

“And second, I had a weird dream this morning. Problem is, I can’t really remember everything about it. Like, I didn’t just completely guess that you were on the bus today. It’s from my dream. I think.” 

Michael blinked a couple of times as he took a moment to process this, then nodded to signal his understanding. “Yeah, was wondering what that was about because I didn’t even tell you that I was gonna be on the bus. Which sucked a little because I couldn’t scare the hell out of you, but it’s not that bad. And isn’t it usually like that though? I mean, it’d be hella cool to clearly remember the last dream you had.”

 _How nice of you_ , he sarcastically voiced to Michael… mentally. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. It just felt weird, like more off than other dreams. I don’t remember much, but I at least know it started off with me waking up today, just like this morning, then me catching the bus and you being there and we started talking together… basically it’s giving me a whole déjà vu moment so far. Sort of.”

“Hm.” He hummed as he continued to sip his slushie.

“And things happened and after dying, I pretty much woke up.” He didn’t bother mentioning the possibly ‘yeah i got murdered’ aspect of his death. It wouldn’t even make sense if it was a suicide, with how wet hands gripping the handle of the blade was obviously not hi—

Jeremy yelped in pain, eyes closed tightly as his hands clench a fistful of his curly brown hair. The throbbing headache worsened, pain pulsing through the inside of his head like a small swarm of bees _buzzing_ and stinging his brain relentlessly. Beside him, Michael stopped drinking his slushie in panic

“Oh shit, what—what’s wrong? Is it the SQUIP?” Michael hurriedly asked, his level of voice going down to a whisper at the end of his sentence as he seemed more than ready to get up from his seat.

.. And the bees dying from losing their stingers in the fight. The pain subsided. “N-no, it’s okay. Just a headache; it happened this morning too.”

Michael didn’t look convinced, judging by his bemusement. “This morning?”

“Yeah, um, I kinda fell off the bed with my head, uh, landing first,” Jeremy sputtered, watching his expression slowly turn into that of pity and slight amusement. He wasn’t sure why he lied, because even if it does happen to him from time to time, it didn’t happen to him this morning. Despite this, it was apparently enough to convince the glasses-wearing male from his concern towards him, who started to pick up their previous conversation.

“Sounds like a freaky way to wake up from. But yeah, I don’t think it’s something to worry about, though; it’s just a dream. Dying in a dream isn’t that new. Like one can dream of dying while going up the stairs, or dying in a bathroom.” 

“Didn’t you dream that before? The dying while going up the stairs thing?”

“I did. Probably the worst way to go, falling down a steep staircase. One way to wake up for real, sure, but I just hate the idea of dreaming about something like that. Or lowkey stairs in general.” He shuddered, but it was apparent that he tried to lighten the conversation with the last sentence. Maybe it would have been better to have skipped the topic entirely. But he moved on from it. “So you’re not a psychic?”

“I don’t… think so? I don’t have telekinesis or anything like that. At least I don’t think I do.”

“Uh-huh. And another thing: you may have gotten the ‘me being on the bus’ part right, but, to play devil’s advocate, I’ve taken the bus to school before. I’ve taken it three times last week. One of those times was last Monday too. And déjà vu dreams are a thing too if that means anything.”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” He wasn’t completely relieved from his overall anxiety yet, but it was still reassuring to hear Michael’s opinion on it. “But you also pulled the fly joke in my dream.”

“I mean, was it down in the dream?”

A pause. “..Yeah.”

“Jer, buddy, I only mentioned it earlier to play around. I don’t think dream-me was joking if your fly was actually down.”

Jeremy sighed. “Right.” Even if it was a dream, he wished his dream-self had taken a quick moment to pull up his pants zipper right before he got on the bus. He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt the bus finally arrive at its destination: school. By the time they had just entered the school and into the hallway, the school bell had already rung—promptly shifting from a ‘walk ‘n talk’ to a full-on running marathon for both of them as they hurried to get to their classes.

* * *

“... and that, ladies and gents, concludes OUR presentation for our _th_ ien _t_ _h_ project,” Rich concluded, his lisp unraveling itself at the end. Which was funny, because the only reason he doesn’t talk with his lisp was so that he could practice his lines to secure a high grade for ‘verbal communication’ in our rubric. And I’m definitely sure the little guy aced that part.

“In all seriousness though,” Jake Dillinger started, “We’re in our senior year and we’re STILL doin’ these science projects?” He asked jokingly, to which several classmates snickered quietly as they watched from their seats. Even our teacher, Mr. Rye, couldn’t help but join in on it ‘cause hey, who wouldn’t? It’s Jake Dillinger. And that’s coming from me. Not my type though, great as he is, because the guy I like is...

“He’s got a point.” I whispered to Jeremy, who stiffly nodded in agreement. 

“Did you remember to bring the flash drive with the powerpoint? And the flashcards?” He asked, his leg bobbing up and down anxiously. 

“Uh, yeah. Oh but I MIGHT have changed it up a little, but it’s fine since it’s only on my part. We’re gucci, Jere. I got this in the bag.” I made sure to gesture with my reassuring finger guns because that obviously works even though he looks like he’s going to murder me with those bugged-out eyes.

“Wh-”

“Very good, you two! Though we certainly could have done without Abraham Lincoln. But overall, good work. And the next pair, let’s see here… Ah-ha. Jeremy Heere and Michael Mell? It’s your turn to show us what you did for your science project!” 

Showtime.

* * *

Coming back to class with the bathroom pass in hand, Jeremy returned it at the teacher’s desk. He was making his way over to sit down at his usual seat, until…

“Ready to join the class again after your leisurely time in the restroom, Mr. Heere? Something marvelous must have happened in there for you to have the gall to waste class time.” Ms. Kcufschwitz mockingly remarks, the mole-marked corner of her upper lip curled scornfully as his classmates tittered at him even when he had already sat down. 

“I think that’s none of your goddamn business, but whatever keeps me away from your half-assed teaching compared to all that clown makeup you’ve got going on today.” Jeremy says. Only he doesn’t say that. Instead, he ignores the shame and discomfort emanating from his stomach, a feeling akin to the flickering, battering wings of moths rather than stereotypical butterflies, in favor of delving deeper into his thoughts as the teacher resumed her boring lecture.

When he was on his way to the boys’ restroom down the hall, he met Michael before he left for his doctor’s appointment today. 

When he came back, he found himself at the center of unwanted attention in class today.

The throbbing sensation made its way to his head again, but more faintly this time. This time, it didn’t feel like someone was jabbing his head with a sharp object repeatedly.

_‘What exactly happened in that dream?’_

* * *

_Crunch._

At the very moment his foot landed on a fresh patch of wet grass on his way home from school, Jeremy Heere finally regains his memories. 

 _‘That wasn’t a dream,’_ He realizes, his hand curling into a tight fist until the ends of his fingertips faintly turned white. Despite this revelation, he continues to walk, albeit in a faster pace. _‘From meeting Michael on the bus to now, none of that was a dream. All of it has happened before. ALL of this.’_

_Crunch crunch crunch_

He was so stupid. Why did he think walking alone was a great idea? Why couldn’t he have remembered earlier, while he still had the opportunity to avoid his death?

_Crunch crunch crunch crunch,_

_Tp tp tp tp_

 

_Buzz buzz_

His head was hurting again, this time as a grim reminder. The buzzing in his head felt louder.

**_Crunch crunch crunch_ **

Inwardly, Jeremy started to panic. Right now, he had just reached the sidewalk. Three seconds ago, he was walking on wet grass. He didn’t need to be a know-it-all to know that someone was already behind him,

 

 _Tp tp_ **_Crunch crunch_ ** _tp tp_ **_crunch_ ** _tp tp tp_ **_tp tp tp_ **

 

close enough that it felt like they were no more than twelve feet away, which was about the length of one compact car. He doesn’t hear anything but the sounds of footsteps that accompanied his own for a brief moment, only snapping out of this critical state when he hears his phone ringing and vibrating in his pocket. Retrieving it from said pocket, his vision starts to blur from the tears that were forming in his eyes as he read the caller ID.

_‘Dad..’_

After letting it ring a couple more times, Jeremy decided to answer the call. His killer’s footsteps persisted. 

_“Hello? Jeremy?”_

**_Tp tp_ **

_“Jeremy?”_

**_Tp tp tp_ **

_“You there? This is Dad speaking!”_

“Hey Dad.” came his terse reply. He couldn’t hear the footsteps behind him anymore, but he didn’t want to turn and find out for sure. This would, _should_ , be some kind of horrific nightmare, Jeremy was sure, _hoped_ , of it. “What’s up?”

_“Eh, just getting some work done; you know how it is. Your old man’s been very busy lately. But that’s not the main reason why I called, son. Have you seen the time? Now, I understand that you’re a half-fledged adult but you should at least tell me if you’re going to come home late today. When are you coming home?”_

“I-” He could feel the area around his eyes heat up, barely able to contain his tears. He was going to die. At the same time this thought occurred to him, his ears caught a distinct noise.

_Sssssshhk_

Before the scared teen could react, let alone do _anything_ to save himself from this predicament, a raw, blood-curdling scream erupts from his throat as he feels a stinging, unbearable pain radiating from his back and to his chest. 

Jeremy’s final regret at the time, he believed, was looking down, for he had seen a glimpse of a blade protruding from his chest before it was forcefully taken out, resulting in copious amounts of red fluid gush out of the wound endlessly. His legs gave out under him, his body dropping to the wet hard pavement with a _thud_ as he continued to bleed out at a rapid rate. 

Distantly, he heard his father’s voice call out to him from his phone, whose outline gradually became blurrier as his eyesight degraded by the minute. Unsurprisingly, his lungs also gave in under pressure, with how each breath he took seemed to make his pain worse until blood filled his throat rather than air, his desperate attempts to breathe done in vain as he choked on blood and saliva that drooled out of the corner of his lips which started to have a tinge of blue even after he couldn’t breathe anymore-

* * *

Jeremy Heere woke up gasping for air, his upper body raised upright as his eyes inspected his surroundings frantically. Ignoring the lightheadedness and spots in his vision from the sudden movement, he saw that he was in his room again based on how every single furniture seemed familiar and in their usual spots. On the nightstand next to his bed was his compact digital clock with the current time spelled out in bold, red font:

**_7:35 AM_ **

_Monday, --_

From the moment he read the time and date once, twice, five, TEN times, a paranoid Jeremy Heere more or less understood the kind of situation he’s in when the persistent _buzzing_ headache came back again. So when his tired, overworked Dad finally came up the stairs to check up on his son after 20 minutes of inactivity, he exhaled a long, resigned sigh at the sight of an unconscious Jeremy on the bed with a nearly-empty 1-liter bottle of Mountain Dew loosely held in his hand.


End file.
